Archive of Our Own ^beta

Marco was wondering if it was normal being so anxious before going to a party. The answer was obvious when the words ‘social anxiety’ appeared inside his head: how many people suffered from that condition at different levels? Nevertheless, those ideas made him ask himself whereas his shyness may have ended in something similar. While playing with the sleeves of his green shirt, sitting at the back of a taxi, and with no other company than the driver itself, Marco couldn’t stop thinking about where the extrovert child that he used to be before could have gone.

Neither did he remember some sort of ‘trauma’ that could have caused his drastic change.

But at the same time that he was searching on his own repressed and dusty memories, he distracted himself so long that he didn’t realise that they were no more than two blocks away from the party.

When he noticed the car turning to the left in the last corner, and then slowing down the speed, Marco’s hands started to sweat again.

But he had arrived already, and his only option was to survive through that night. After all, he was twenty-one, and quoting to his father: he couldn’t keep being a coward for the rest of his life.

Okay, maybe there were some family issues messing up his head.

Marco paid to the driver and once he got off the car, he saw in front of him what seemed to be a house thrice as expensive as his own place: A large and well-maintained garden, wooden fence surrounding the back, through which could be seen the colourful lights flickering. The same thing happened in the front windows: the curtains covered just enough so it wouldn’t show nothing more than shadows and a few guys too close to the glass. The music was loud, the same as the voices, the singing and laughing. Some couples had taken seats right in front of the house, apparently trying to have some ‘privacy’; because of that, Marco—against his own will—, felt the urge to get inside.

To be fairly honest, he regretted not staying outside for a few more minutes.

The house was crowded. People as old as him with cups and bottles in their hands, some of them with cigars or holding someone else’s hand between the most innocent cases. Marco tried to avoid eye contact but, where the hell should he look when you’re surrounded by so many people?

He kept his eyes on the floor, until encouraged himself and started to move.

Honestly, the house was beautiful both on the outside and on the inside. It looked like the property of a wealthy family, with neat paintings and the most expensive wooden floor that he had ever stepped on. Some certificates were placed in the living room, while a luxurious TV covered half of the wall—which was turned off and was being completely ignored.

Marco didn’t know what he was looking for. His friends, probably, although they were still on the road when he had already arrived. The people squeezed together were too much for him, so he had no other option than go through the house until he could find someplace quieter.

The kitchen was at the very end of the house, and despite it looked clear at first sight, he noticed a few seconds later six guys occupying the countertop, who were shouting-challenging each other nonstop until their cups were empty.

Without thinking too much about what he was doing, he stole one of the cups, knowing that it was a whole idiocy, but he needed to have something to hold while leaving the kitchen and going back, towards the stairs that he had seen a few meters away from the entry. Unluckily, every step was taken by a whole group of people, and it was impossible to go upstairs without stepping on someone. Also, he didn’t know why he wanted to go to the first floor so bad. It was better not to take the risk.

He decided to go towards the backyard where, in spite of having almost the same amount of people than in the inside, the crowd was scattered; some of them looking with temptation to the pool extended in all its magnificence at their feet.

Marco walked near the wall until he reached a group of furniture uninhabited. He sat there, took out his phone, and left his cup of drink in the ground, forgetting immediately about its existence.

He read a message from Connie, his workmate, and when he knew that they would be arriving in less than five minutes, he couldn’t contain himself and sighed relieved.

Certainly, Marco didn’t hate parties. Like, not as a whole. He used to feel better in more private gatherings, with people that he knew, surrounded by friends or someone he was sure that they were trustworthy. If he hated parties that bad, he wouldn’t have accepted to go that night, nor the previous ones.

It made him anxious? Hell yes. It made him feel awkward and unsuitable, too. But that feeling used to disappear or so when he had the company of his friends—or thanks to some drinking.

Sometimes, the latter made it all worse.

Marco avoided at all cost looking at the guests of that birthday-party, who started to dance along the rhythm of a trap song, the same way with those who decided to have given into temptation and started to undress, ignoring the whistles and all the mocking, in order to throw themselves into the pool.

No one showed to tell them that they couldn’t do that, and consequently, more people started to get into the water too, leaving their clothes on the ground, maybe driven by the alcohol, or for the hot weather itself.

Marco nervously grabbed the hem of his shirt, while contemplating his own tight pants and his shoes which were a bit worn out, but were still his best clothes. Definitely he preferred to deal with the weather in his own way.

Then, a group of friends sat right next to him and also in the armchairs in front of him. The couple of girls who were at his side seemed to ignore his presence absolutely. Without giving a thought, Marco stood on his feet, willing to leave.

“Hey,” someone called. Marco lifted head to spot a girl who was sitting in front of him, and was analysing him with a smile on her face. “You can stay here with us. Don’t you get bored being alone?”

“Uh—"

“We’re friendly,” she tried again, with genuine sympathy.

Her friends were staring at Marco with curiosity, some of them with a smile pretty similar to hers. Even if Marco appreciated the gesture, he was too sober to hang out with eight strangers at the same time.

But then a miracle embodied in a pair of arms which circled his torso from behind made their arrival, and Marco sighed in relief—again—while hearing the excited shouts at his back: He would recognise them any time, in any place.

“Marco! We are just a few minutes late, and people are already hitting on you?”

Marco laughed as he turned to face Sasha, the girl with reddish hair who had been his friend after being introduced to Connie.

Speaking of the devil… a bald guy smaller than him with a mischievous smile across his face reached them, holding three cups of drinks between his hands.

“Leave him,” said Connie, right when Sasha pulled away from the hug. “Our little one has become a man; he can do whatever he wants”.

There it was, that inside joke. Sasha and Connie used to joke about having him ‘adopted’ as their friend. Marco was sure that that was the way in which a friendship between extroverted and introverted people worked, after all.

“First of all,” he started to say “they weren’t hitting on me”.

Sasha motherly smiled at him, and Marco felt as a child.

“Oh, Marco, you’re so young. Come here, let's knock back these drinks inside”.

“I’m literally a year older than you, Sash”.

Marco turned towards the group of young people who had been surrounding him a few minutes before, noticing that one of the girls couldn’t keep her eyes away from him.

Sasha and Connie guided him inside the kitchen, where the dudes who were before seemed to have disappeared, or they could be throwing up all the drinks. Connie placed the cups on the counter, offering one to each friend, and after taking the whole drink in one gulp, he was soon searching for something else to drink. Sash did the same as him with her drink, and it took Marco a few gulps to leave it empty.

“Does nobody bring tequila these days?” he complained, choosing instead a bottle full of vodka. He grabbed ice cubes, grapefruit soda, and poured them into our cups.

“Can you remind me whose party is this,” Marco asked.

Because, yes, he had been dragged to a stranger’s party in order to have some ‘decent fun’ as his friends told him two days before.

Sasha couldn’t help but laugh: she covered her own face with the drink while giving a sip, her eyes locked in Connie, knowing what he would say next.

“Uhm, he’s something like the friend of a friend’s friend—”

Marco wasn’t particularly satisfied with that answer.

“Okay? And his name is—?”

Connie let his palm fall on the counter. Smiling in his own characteristic way, he looked at both of them, and suddenly lifted his cup above their heads.

“Bottoms up!”

And just like that, not only him but also Sash drank in full speed the whole liquid of their cups.

Of course, it was Sasha the first person to leave her cup on the counter, shouting in victory and raising her arms with an overwhelming energy.

“Marco, you’re still in time to defeat Connie! Do it!”

Connie had just put his empty drink on the table, and instead of getting angry, he elbowed Sasha playfully.

“You’re such a nuisance, Sash”.

“Yeah, yeah,” she downplayed. “Let’s prepare something else,” she suggested then, and to no-one’s surprise, Connie smiled at her, all in favour.

Marco joined them and drank the alcohol as quickly as he could. And then another one. And some more. But then it was over, because when they felt brave enough, Sasha and Connie held him by his shoulders and after walking a bit, Marco was again in the living-room, where the crowd was again dancing with no space between their bodies.

And while Marco got near them, all that previous anxiousness was gone, even faster than he used to. Once the three of them stood in the right place, where they could at least move with some freedom, Marco’s unease was forgotten as a consequence of the alcohol spreading its effects inside him, and thanks to the company of both Sasha and Connie: They were dancing at the rhythm of songs which lyrics they knew by heart, and with the least graceful dance moves ever seen.

Marco didn’t care any more about being in a stranger’s house. Neither did he worry about all the people around him. At that moment, Marco felt freer than never. Free of his fears, his insecurities. Of the sensation of loneliness.

He went to the kitchen to grab another round of drinks, and after they drank the whole thing and Marco went to grab three more cups, on his way back to the living-room he came across—certain scene.

Connie and Sasha had suddenly moved away from the group of people, but they were not alone. A guy with blond hair and amber eyes was with them, and although it looked as if they were both dancing with him, the whole atmosphere was completely different compared to when Marco was there. The blond’s arms were around Sasha’s waist, her back against him. Connie, however, was in front of her, with their chests really closed to each other. At some point, Connie started to kiss her neck, while the blond guy was kissing her on the lips. Sasha was smiling against his mouth, her hands tightly enclosed to Connie’s nape.

And then, Sasha lifted the guy’s chin, and Connie, unexpectedly, led his own lips against the blond’s ones.

Undoubtedly Marco didn’t want to interrupt whatever was going on there.

Holding the tree cups, Marco fast-walked towards the entry, aimlessly actually. His drunk-self guided him until he reached the staircase, unknown territory, which was way more unoccupied than before. Someone asked him for a drink, and Marco didn’t even bother in doubting, handing them a cup. He was soon holding two cups only, and felt more at ease.

Upstairs a corridor was waiting for him, which turned to the left and, with any sort of clue about where he was going, he opened one of the doors randomly, hoping to find the bathroom, and maybe take a nap in the bath.

He found something else where he could rest: A bed.

The young boy was then staring at a completely silent room, light switched off, and the only brightness came from the window with its curtains drawn back. He was able to see all the people in the backyard dancing around and into the pool, but their screams were less noisy in that room.

Another door inside opened, making way to another guy, probably as old as Marco. He had an undercut, and the hair at the top of his head was dyed ash blond.

The guy looked with his eyes wide open to Marco, clearly surprised.

“Are you lost, buddy?”

He wasn’t being mean to him, but Marco didn’t think that he was trying to be nice either.

“Is that a bathroom?” Marco asked suddenly. Not because he was trying to hide the fact that—yes—he was lost, or maybe too drunk to explain the situation to that guy. He actually, and all of a sudden, really needed to go to the bathroom.

The dude didn’t answer. He just moved aside and made a gesture with his hand. Marco doubtlessly walked across the room and entered the bathroom, not without leaving previously his cups on some type of dresser. Almost crashing into the stranger, Marco got inside stumbling and looking goofy.

He never felt as relieved as in that moment.

Once he found himself in front of a mirror, he could see his own deplorable state. He was shit-faced, he could barely stand by himself, and everything was spinning around him. He splashed some water on his face, as if that would help, and at least for a second, he lied to himself feeling fresher and more alive.

He opened the door thinking that he was going to be alone again, but he was wrong. The guy from before had taken a seat on the floor, with his back against one side of the bed. He was looking firmly through the window, at the dark and starless sky.

For some kind of reason, Marco could see himself in that scene.

The boy with the undercut turned his face at him, raising an eyebrow as he realised that Marco hadn’t moved at all.

“Is everything fine?”

Marco nodded immediately, but he didn’t know what to say.

“Are you going to stay there, then?”

“I don’t know,” Marco said honestly. “Are you going to stay there, too?”

The guy smiled. Just a tiny side of his mouth raised. A mouth with thin lips.

“I’m not in the mood for crowds and dealing with strangers today,” he explained, and that reason was just enough to Marco. That’s how he used to feel most of the time.

“Well, but now we are talking, aren’t we?” Marco tried to cheer him up, finally moving. He went towards the dresser and grabbed both cups of drinks, and when he was about to leave the room, he looked again at the guy on the floor.

The boy lifted his head when he saw Marco unexpectedly at his side, offering him a drink.

“What’s your name?”

“Jean”. Jean looked carefully at the cup in Marco’s hand. “Do you need to sell some organs, or—?”

Marco burst into laughter, unable to refrain himself. He took a sip from the cup while keeping his eyes locked with Jean’s staring.

The boy said nothing, even when Marco sat next to him, leaving both cups between each other.

“I’m Marco. I came here with some friends,” he decided to tell him, with no particular reason. Maybe because the alcohol was turning him into someone more talkative. “But they must be busy having a threesome in some corner of the house, so—”.

Jean couldn’t keep a straight face. Marco saw him grabbing one of the drinks and gulping it down.

“Neither do I know someone from here,” he confessed finally. “Even more, I don’t even know whose birthday is this”.

“Mine,” said Jean.

“—Wait, what?”

“The party,” Jean clarified, “it’s because of my birthday”.

Unconsciously, Marco lifted his hand to cover his mouth, wanting to also cover his face—his skin was red of pure shame. The gears started to move inside his brain. He suddenly understood why Jean was there, and settled in the room of that house as if it were his. It was because it was his.

“Shit”.

“Commonly, people would say ‘Happy birthday’, but I will take it anyway”.

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry. Truly, I—” but Marco didn’t know how to apologise. He wasn’t even sure if he should stay there any longer. Probably the right thing to do was leaving right after giving him an apology, at least to put an end to such an awkward situation. “Sorry”.

“It’s okay, I’m serious. I said I knew nobody from all the people who came. I didn’t expect you to know me either”.

Marco was perplexed. He gazed at Jean with much more detail, finding out that the same loneliness that he could see previously, was making its appearance again, more visible. It was in the quiet tone of his voice. In his lost gaze. In the hands holding the plastic cup.

“You know, I don’t actually believe that my friends are doing it in a corner of the house. It’s likely that they have already left to some other place—”

It was Jean’s turn to laugh out loud. So abrupt it was, so out of sudden, that Marco almost fell on his side. He stared at the boy who five seconds before had gloomy eyes, then smiling while closing his eyes, his face full of brightness.

“Oh God, I’m glad then,” shared Jean, still laughing.

“Can I ask you something?” said Marco out of nowhere.

“I guess?” Jean’s smile was still on his face, but Marco was able to see him caressing his own neck, with a nervous movement.

“How can your house be full of people that you don’t even know?”

Marco had friends, yes. And his friends could bring friends too. But he was sure that, even if he left the door of his house open, it wouldn’t be as crowded as that place.

“Oh, you mean that. I don’t know, I wanted to throw a party. I asked a friend to be in charge of it. I suppose that he’s having a great time”.

“But this is your party, this is for you”, Marco complained. “Did he even invite another friend of yours?”

Jean moved uneasy in his place, grabbing the second cup of alcohol. He talked before having a sip:

“Sure. But the truth is that I don’t have them, so—”

“Oh,” said Marco then, without knowing what else to say. For some reason, he wasn’t as surprised as he may have expected to be. Maybe because he had spent most of his life alone. Like, if someone was able to put themselves in his place, that would be Marco for sure.

“Exactly”

“Ok. So then, you only like the sound of your house being wrecked?”

“Well, yes. Indirectly destroying the house is part of the plan of having a birthday party”.

Marco nodded, as if that made some sort of sense. His hand extended towards the alcohol, until he realised that both of them were empty. He didn’t say anything about it.

He noticed that Jean was huffing. He also saw his posture, the guy looking exhausted with his body spread with no energy. As if turning a year older had taken his vitality. And yes, growing up was supposed to cause something like that, but not when you’re in your twenties.

Marco was very comfortable. Talking with him, listening. Rarely didn’t a stranger make him feel awkward or too self-aware. And even if it was true that the previous drinks made everything a bit easier, he couldn’t stop to believe that it would be a waste of the night if he didn’t spend the rest of it with someone like Jean.

It wasn't compassion. It was true interest.

And the fact that Jean was very handsome, which couldn’t be denied any longer.

Marco stood up and looked across the window. He felt the guy’s eyes on him, on his nape, but he stayed calm. When he turned with a ridiculous wide smile on his face towards Jean—whose face was as inscrutable as the sky with no stars—, Marco extended his hand to Jean with all the courage he could find in himself.

“We ran out of drinks. Let’s go grab something else”.

Jean looked surprised at the empty cups. He must have drunk the whole thing without even noticing , Marco thought.

After putting on a wry face, he stood up at the same time he held Marco’s hand. Once on his feet, Marco realised that he was a couple of centimetres taller than Jean. He saw his thin nose, his ochre eyes, and his face a bit large and, more importantly, he could feel Jean’s hand still holding his. He hadn’t let go yet.

Marco smiled shyly. He took Jean out of his room with any effort, and guided him as if he were the owner of the house. Marco took him downstairs avoiding the remains of food and the bodies of people taking a nap there.

The group of people in the living room were still dancing together, but Marco couldn’t see his friends in there, not even the blond guy who was with them. To be honest, Marco didn’t care at all at that moment. He was still holding Jean’s hand when he decided to go to the kitchen. Surprisingly, it was empty.

He found another bottle of vodka. Jean smiled at him

“Are you sure you wanna keep drinking?” he asked, and Marco stared at him as if what he said was nonsense. “I mean, you look already shit-faced”.

Marco didn’t take that comment in a good way. He felt challenged.

“I’m completely fine,” he assured, while grabbing a bottle of soda and pouring it with the alcohol in two cups. “I can handle this, I swear”.

Jean smiled at him. A cocky smirk on his lips. Marco wanted to erase it, maybe while biting his mouth.

He pulled that thought away.

“Anyway,” he kept saying, grabbing his drink. “Cheers! For the birthday boy!”

That was his last clear memory, at least before being kneeled in front of the toilet, again in Jean’s bathroom. Marco had closed the door because he didn’t want to be seen, but Jean was next to the door, in case something happened and his help would be needed.

Marco hated himself. That wasn’t part of his plan, and he felt so pathetic.

This wasn’t about him, after all. It was about making Jean happy at his birthday party. Now, the boy was extremely worried at the other side of the door, spending his time taking care of someone so unworthy like him. 

Damn, Marco, he said to himself. What a great entertainer that you are.

At least he made Jean laugh a lot before throwing up in his bathroom. They chatted for a whole hour in the kitchen. They had sat on the counter, ignoring all the glances at them. Marco wondered if maybe all the people that walked past through them knew that that was Jean, or the birthday boy at least. 

But no-one said ‘Hi’ to him, neither did Jean. He looked very pleased with himself at least. And nobody was trying to grab alcohol while they stood there, so that may have been the main cause why Marco drank way more than he was supposed to. But he enjoyed it, all in all, staring at Jean, because whenever someone got near enough to piss him off, he stared icyly at them, sending a clear message.

The guy was a kill-joy, and Marco was enchanted by him.

Jean not only creeped people out. He was very fun to listen to, and it also seemed to be an interesting human being. At least he was decent.

He was in his third year of college, his aim of becoming an architect. Apparently, he had some trust-issues, because he kept saying something about not being good enough, and how he couldn’t believe how far he’d come.

But he gave the impression that he was a hardworking person, despite all the bad stuff he said about himself.

Marco would’ve gladly heard more about him, but then his stomach did a thing, and well—there he was.

He washed his mouth, cleaned his face and didn’t leave the bathroom until it looked the same as it was before. He didn’t want to keep being a burden.

“Are you okay?” Jean asked, his voice worried. “I brought some water”.

Marco took the glass between his hands and drank. He was so grateful. Jean should have kicked him out of his house a while ago already. He wondered why he hadn’t done it yet. He was preparing himself for the worst. Sasha and Connie were gone hours ago, and he wasn’t sure if getting in a car in that state would be good for him. He just wanted to sleep so badly, nothing else.

He looked at Jean’s bed. So close, yet so far .

“Most people already left,” started Jean. Oh, here it comes . “Seems like the corpses are going to spend the rest of the night here”. 

Marco laughed. He would love to be one of those lucky ones. They don’t have to take care of themselves until they wake up. God knows when that’s gonna happen.

“Do you wanna take a nap before leaving?” Jean asked.

Marco tried to look at him in the face, but he was already looking somewhere else. Through the window, Marco guessed, because the only thing that he could see was his back. Somehow, it was endearing.

“Are you sure?” Marco asked then, timid. His brain couldn’t process the whole thing yet. “I mean, I already caused too much trouble”.

“Bullshit,” said Jean right away. “You can sleep in my bed if you want, I won’t sleep anyway”.

Marco knew that he should have said ‘no’. It wasn’t right. He had just met the dude, and he could be a psycho or something like that. However, drunk-Marco didn’t care at all. He was glad that he didn’t have to leave at night.

Marco grinned at him, a soft ‘thank you’ leaving his lips.

Jean sat at the end of the bed, almost glued to the footboard, as if he were trying to leave Marco the most free-space he could.

Marco took his shoes off, and when he sat in the bed, he paid attention to the bedside table. There were a few notepads, a book about the history of architecture, Marco guessed; but what caught his attention the most, was a sort of sphere with a small circle in its top, which looked like a plastic gem.

“What is this?” wondered Marco out loud. He wasn’t sure about holding it, it kind of looked fragile.

“Oh, that,” said Jean then, holding a laugh. “My friend gave it to me. We always joke around about those sky light projectors. They are pretty common to see in viral tweets”.

“It’s one of those ?” Marco was smiling so hard his cheeks were aching. “I can’t believe people actually buy this stuff,” he teased.

“It was a joke,” Jean insisted. His face was suddenly red, and Marco tried not to gasp at the view. “It’s not that bad, though. I mean, despite having the window open, I can’t even catch a single star from here”.

Marco looked at Jean, at the way the boy had his head down, staring at the floor. His hands were tapping nervously on the sheets, and the colour of his cheeks hadn’t left yet. It was so different from the guy who was looking daggers at the guests. Marco wanted to ask him why he wasn’t receiving the same treat.

Not that he complained, though.

“Can I see?” Marco asked instead. He was still curious after all.

Jean finally turned his face at him, half-smiling. “Yeah”.

Marco switched the light on, still holding the object in its hands. And it was quicker than he thought, because suddenly they were both staring at a complete sky full of stars inside Jean’s room. It was breath-taking.

They are just dots , Marco said to himself, but it wasn’t like that at all. They were actually beautiful. Jean's room was already dark, but the little stars covering both the roof and the walls made it seem as if they were in a field, not in the middle of the city. The dots— stars —were incredibly tiny, most of them light-blue, other ones mingled white with purple. Maybe it was a consequence of all the alcohol, but Marco surely loved the view. It made him feel calmer.

He looked at Jean, who was deeply staring at the stars on his roof. The stars were reflecting in his face too. Marco had his freckles, but Jean had a whole universe in its whole body. Thousands of the smallest suns in him.

Jean soon noticed his staring and they made eye-contact. Marco cleared his throat.

“I never went stargazing,” Marco confessed, hoping that Jean would understand the hidden message in his words.

Jean snorted.

“So cheese,” he said, but his voice was low.

Marco tapped beside him, and Jean groaned exaggeratedly. 

They both laid down on the bed, with their eyes open at the fake sky. The lights didn’t move or make any particular sound, and Marco was glad about it. That would have given him a headache. 

But the night was quiet. Someone had turned down the music a while ago, and it was probably four in the morning. Marco could hear Jean’s breathing, and the sound of the sheets whenever one of them moved slightly. They weren’t even touching, but Marco could feel the heat of Jean’s body near him.

He felt so amazed. By all of it. He had no idea that his night would end that way. He only knew that he was feeling so right about it that he didn’t want it to end. He could have stayed like that for a long time, in the room of that lonely birthday boy. Staring at a fake galaxy.

Marco was tired. He wasn’t surprised when he opened his eyes, realizing that he had fallen asleep. The stars inside the room were weakly shining, mainly because the light of the sun itself was outshining the rest. It was sunrise, and Marco felt all his body numb, but he knew that he should start moving. Apart from him, the bed was empty.

He tried to leave the bed, but his head was suddenly spinning. He told himself that he’d better start moving before getting his ass kicked off that house. He had overstepped, and it was time to leave.

When he could finally sit in his place, the door of the room opened, revealing a quiet Jean, who was trying to sneak into his room. The boy realised that Marco was awake, and stood at the frame of the door.

“Hi,” said Jean, a bit awkward.

“Hi,” said Marco, way more ashamed than him.

“Everyone is gone,” Jean commented, avoiding Marco’s gaze. “I brought you these,” he said later, while leaving a glass of water and pills on the bedside table.

Marco was astonished. Like, yeah, he wasn’t used to people being decent at all. It was like every person who he met was a complete asshole. But Jean had already taken care of him throughout the whole night. And then that . It wasn’t a big deal, he told himself. But still.

Marco swallowed one pill with water. His head would be thankful in the near future.

“Thanks,” said Marco, blushing. He didn’t know what else to say. But he pushed himself to express his gratitude; he didn’t want to regret it later, once gone. “I mean, you needn't do these kinds of things. I didn’t even bring a present.”

“Right, the present for the person you knew nothing about,” Jean joked, and it achieved its goal of making Marco smile. “It’s just a glass of water. And a pill. Do you want to pay for it?”

Marco looked firmly at him.

“Oh—I think I have enough money—”

“Jeez, dude, don’t,” the boy said, gesturing with his hand. “Don’t even think about it. It’s nothing, really”.

“But I feel like I owe you so much already,” Marco insisted. His face was serious, and he looked a bit sad too. He felt a bit sad about the whole situation, he couldn’t tell exactly why.

“Hmm—,” Jean tapped his chin with his thumb, as if he were thinking deeply about it. He sat next to Marco, and then looked at him.

Marco felt suddenly nervous. A lot of thoughts were running inside his head. The fact that they were alone in the house; that he had just met Jean; how fragile the boy looked the night before, and how some of that loneliness was still visible in his eyes, as some aftertaste. He thought of all the dumb shit that he must have said before fallen sleep, in his bed, side by side. He remembered the stars flashing in Jean’s face, in his almond eyes. The soundless breathing escaping through his thin lips.

They were so close.

“I hate cooking,” said Jean suddenly, startling Marco. “You could prepare some breakfast once that pill put you out of your misery”.

The boy proceeded to lay down in the middle of the bed, both his head and feet at the sides of the bed.

“By the way, I think you have some messages on your phone”.

No sooner did Marco hear that than he opened his eyes widely, almost throwing himself to reach his phone. Oh, no . Fifteen messages, eight missed calls. He sent a brief text to his family before receiving a new call.

It was Sasha.

“Sash—”

“Marco! I’m so, so sorry! Are you okay? Where are you? Please tell me that you’re safe I’m so dumb—”

“Sasha,” the boy cut her. “I’m fine. I’m still at Jean’s house”.

Sasha must have put him on speaker, because he could clearly hear Connie shouting: “Who the fuck is Jean!?”

Marco spied briefly at Jean. If he had heard that, Marco couldn’t tell.

“You know, the friend of your friend’s— friend ”. Marco wasn’t sure what he was even saying.

“So, you’ve been busy sucking co—?”

“Connie, I’m fine!” Marco interrupted him quickly. “I’ll tell you once I’m home, okay?”

There was a fuss on the other end of the line. Both Sasha and Connie were trying to keep talking to him while having a quarrel between them, and Marco decided to hang up. He knew that they would complain about it later, but at least he could make them know that he was alive. Safe and sound.

Sort of.

He looked at Jean. The window was still open, so the sunlight was covering his body. He looked very pleased by it.

Trying to keep it casual, Marco let himself fall on his side, relying on his elbow; his head was soon resting on his hand. He was able to keep staring at Jean from above.

“Smooth,” said Jean, keeping his eyes closed. He was smiling.

“What—what do you mean?” Marco almost lost his balance, but he tried to keep as quiet as he could. He could feel his face blushing, though. He couldn’t deceive no one.

Jean opened one of his eyes. He gave him a long stare before closing it again.

“Nothing,” he answered. And then “I think that Connie is friends with Eren. My friend’s friend”.

“Oh,” said Marco, immediately cheerful to have someone in common. “Yes, I know him, he’s—”

“The worst person ever. Are your friends as terrible as him?”

Marco’s blush spread to all his face then.

“No!” Why would I be their friend then?”

“Lack of taste. Being as shitty as them. Preferring their friendship than being miserably alone. I don’t know, I’m just speculating”. Jean sighed. He sounded tired while speaking again. “But you’re a decent person, so we have to dismiss the second one. And the first one… well, your taste kinda sucks if you decided to spend your night with a loser like me”.

Marco was shocked. He didn’t expect so much honesty from him. Straightforward people were a bit overwhelming to him.

“Or maybe the latter,” Jean continued. Marco didn’t notice that he had Jean’s eyes on him. “Maybe you’re just lonely, after all”.

Marco frowned.

“You’re one to talk”.

Shit , and fuck . That wasn’t his intention—

“Well, you’re right. Then I think that the first option wins”.

“Has the option ‘they are just nice’ ever crossed your mind?”

Jean made a gesture with his mouth. He wasn’t convinced, he could guess.

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to understand why you decided to stay with me last night”, he opened up to him. Marco felt something touching his chest, and he was taken aback as soon as he realised that it was Jean’s forefinger pointing at him.

His heart was beating so fast. He was sure that Jean could feel it at the tip of his finger.

“You are not a loser, Jean”.

“You barely know me”.

“I know, but I was having fun, here with you. Maybe you and all the other guests have a different concept about what ‘having fun’ means. Maybe mine differs with my friend’s idea,” he kept saying. “And you too decided to keep my company. You could have kicked me out of your house if you felt like it. But here I am, and I’m asking the same thing to you now. Why am I the only person here, even though all the others are gone a while ago?”

Jean opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly shut it up. Marco was upset, he couldn’t figure why.

Jean sighed.

“Okay then,” his expression changed a bit, as if he were getting even more serious. “At first, well, you seemed to be as lonely as me,” the boy confessed, and Marco chaste ached.

So that was how he looked? Well, he had arrived at his room not only drunk but also completely alone. It wasn’t his fault though. His friends were busy at the time.

But it’s true that he felt lonely for a moment.

“However, once you started talking… Well, it started to feel more like a birthday to me”.

Marco didn’t expect something like that. He checked Jean’s face and the boy was giving him a smile. He was being genuine, and Marco wasn’t sure what to do about it. With that information.

“Maybe we are both losers,” Jean joked, tearing a laugh from Marco.

“It's nice to have things in common,” said Marco, and he locked eyes with Jean.

He knew that there was something else. Something that none of them were saying. But he could feel the tension between them, the way in which both sometimes gave a brief look at their lips. How Jean bit his own mouth from time to time. The cocky smile.

But maybe it was just him, and in that case, he would feel very dumb by trying to make a move.

Because of that, he stayed as still as he could. Apparently, Jean was doing the same.

“Feeling better, Freckles?” Jean asked, and Marco never felt more self-conscious like in that moment.

“You want that breakfast so badly, don’t you?” Freckles asked instead.

He laughed at that question. And Marco melted.

“Yeah, I’m starving”.

But none of them move. Marco didn’t want to. He was more than okay there, next to Jean.

He supposed that Jean felt the same way, because he then said “Or we could just stay here, for a bit”.

And Marco knew. Saying something else would have been unnecessary. They both knew. They both wanted it.

Jean got closer to him, and Marco forced himself to keep breathing, because it seemed like his body had decided to do nothing more than wanting . Little did he think before moving, leaning in to him. Jean’s hand was then placed in Marco’s check, guiding him.

The first touch of their lips was soft. Almost a caress. Marco’s chest was not aching anymore; it was full. Jean made him feel tender while his lips gave him another kiss, this one with more pressure. His lips were wet against him, and when Jean took Marco’s lower lip between his teeth, he thought that he would lose himself in that kiss.

Marco lifted himself a bit more, laying his elbows at Jean’s sides, and with only their torsos pressing against each other, he deepened the kiss, using his tongue, feeling Jean’s hand pressing his face, encouraging him. Jean's mouth tasted like toothpaste. His skin was warm due to the sunlight, and his hands were big enough to almost cover his whole face while keeping him against his lips.

Marco kissed him in the mouth, his chin and cheeks. He gave a light bite at his face, making him smile under him. He felt like he could keep going non-stop.

And that’s what they did. They keep snogging for what it feels forever, but once they move away from each other, it’s wasn't enough.

However, after having breakfast and once Marco was standing at the entrance of the house before leaving, Jean asked for his number. He didn’t have to ask twice.

Marco received a soft peck on his face. That spot of his face kept burning the rest of his day, and he was glad that the sensation of the kiss was still on him. It felt like having the sun on your face for the first time in the morning, and pretty much like stargazing indoors with a complete stranger.

Warm. Unreal.